Summer arrives in a few minutesannounced only by the estival breezesand the clacking of the woodenblinds in our room. The sun filledthe room with light just after fivethis morning and won’t retreatuntil nearly ten.

This is the longest day.

Somewhere around ten I watchedthe taillights of the Wrangerdisappear around the corneras you left for a week of workin another town. We will sleepunder the same moon, butnot in the same bed.

This is the longest day.

I picked lettuce for lunchfrom the garden and I can’t letthis beautiful afternoon passwithout a walk on the beach.These are things we dotogether, you and I. TodayI will go alone.

The Mayans were so connectedto the seasons and the sunthat they knew exactly whenthe first light would break intotheir temple at Solsticeand they gathered to prayand to feast.

I am connected to youacross the miles and meadows,in the wind and wishes thatswirl around me; we’re connectedand so you feel as far awayas the shortest night is fromthis summer afternoon.

I came home from a two week family vacation early this month. My beloved and our daughter stayed with her sister for a couple of days due to a family crisis while I drove home from the airport to begin settling us back into our lives. Those were long days, too. Beautiful poetry, Milton.